


Five Times Ianto Fucked a Stranger

by enemyfrigate



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Casual Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, five times fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemyfrigate/pseuds/enemyfrigate





	Five Times Ianto Fucked a Stranger

1\. Ianto doesn't know the name of the man thrusting against him, and he doesn't care. All he knows is that the stranger will make no demands on him outside of a quick fuck in a dark room behind a bar.

It's an old room in an old building, and the walls deviate into warped triangles and crooked niches, and in most of them men are getting off. Fucking upright, cheek to the plaster; sucking off, knees on cheap lino; hand jobs whilst looking everywhere but at the other man.

Or like Ianto and the stranger, frottage against a painted over back door. He half hopes the thing will swing open and he'll tumble into the street, trousers flapping open, dick swinging in cold winter air.

He wants to come and the stranger is taking forever. But Ianto doesn't shove him away to finish himself. What is he, after all, without his compulsion to see everything through to the end?

2\. The third nameless man Ianto fucks is from some future beyond Earth languages. Tosh's translation program doesn't work with whatever gabble the future man speaks, but Ianto doesn't need a computer to interpret the warmth of a gaze, the head tilt of invitation.

Ianto drags the future man into an old shed in someone's back garden and puts him, as he pants words so alien Ianto can't begin to ascribe the sounds meaning, on the hood of a rusted out Vauxhall.

Future man pulls his knees up and wide and Ianto folds the limbs further back and shoves in.

The man says, "Qui, qui, qui," and "hok," and opens around Ianto's cock, deliberate like sunrise. But Ianto's hips are not deliberate, and he crashes his cock in and hauls back again like storm waves, a pounding irregular and fierce.

Future-man comes, crying, "Sel!" and Ianto pushes deeper until he plunges into orgasm. The future-man catches Ianto as he half falls forward, and says nonsense in a fond, tender voice to the top of Ianto's head. All Ianto can hear is , soft in his ear, "Vizdn aw weash kanac. Periac, periac, sweel."

Which is more than Jack ever does.

3\. Ianto gets on his knees for a visiting Australian, a slim man with sure hands who's too beautiful to be this awkward with strangers. It's late and the Aussie just wants a map, but Ianto insists on taking him outside and pointing the way, until they reach a blind corner by the pier and Ianto can gently, above all politely, press the Australian to the creosote soaked wood of the rail and kneel before him on the wet pavers.

Ianto mouths the man's cock through old denim, and the stuttering protest dies away. The man drops one light hand to the back of Ianto's neck. His hips jerk forward and Ianto greedily swallows him down. The angle is bad but the Aussie seems completely undone. Ianto is merciful and finishes him quick.

Ianto rises and starts to turn away, but the Australian catches his arm and pulls him back. Ianto undoes his flies and leans back. The Australian takes him in hand and Ianto pushes at the air, through the strong hand, and in minutes his come is painting the wall opposite.

Ianto steps away and does himself up.

The Australian has already turned to go.

"Cheers," Ianto says.

"You going to tell your boyfriend about this?" the Aussie says.

"I expect he'd rather see the video," Ianto says.

"Excuse me?"

"No worries," Ianto says. "Joke."

Jack won't like the video at all, Ianto thinks. He'd deliberately chosen a CCTV blind spot for their encounter. One could see all the approaches, but none of the action.

Ianto will give Jack three-quarters of an hour to find the footage on his own before forwarding a copy to his computer, marked Urgent.

4\. The tall man in the ruffled dress has strong shoulders, like Jack. He bends over Ianto’s cock eagerly, like Jack. He convinces Ianto to take his trousers half-down, not content with entirely covered skin, and that’s also like Jack.

What isn’t like Jack is the layers of taffeta and satin tickling his half bare thighs. The man’s beard, his uncalloused hands, these are all revelations.

And unlike Jack the man in the dress pulls off to catch his breath a few times, once wets his mouth from a bottle of water.

Below them the uni party thumps along unabated.

The blow-job takes forever. The man cannot divine a single one of Ianto’s buttons, the particular nerves and tiny spans of skin that prompt a haze over his vision, the suggestion of control from the other that Ianto chafes against and craves.

Ianto never thought one could have bad sex that involved getting blown.

Finally, Ianto comes, with his hand on himself, watching the stranger rub his own cock through the taffeta skirt, thinking of nothing. Not Jack, or the man in the dress, or Laurence Olivier, or any of his hundred crushes.

Ianto winces at the wrinkles in his trousers as he redresses himself, but he leaves the party lighthearted. Refreshed. So little in his life means nothing anymore.

5\. He’s a UNIT soldier, there’s an alien crash, and Ianto is going to get fucked behind the cooling wreckage because he happened to be driving back into the garage when the call came in and the team just piled in without turfing him from the SUV.

Ianto avoids looking at the name patch on the UNIT soldier’s uniform. He’s just a guard, told off to take a break while Torchwood does things out of bound even for UNIT. Ianto smiles at him and steps into the trees where the dark pervades stronger than ever against the burning forest to the south, ignited by the wreck.

There are teeth on his neck and his arse is jerked back against the soldier’s groin. Ianto nods. The soldier puts him against a tree and Ianto shoves his trousers down, and a thin cock works its way into him. Ianto lets a whisper of a whimper escape, encouragement to the soldier. He isn’t disappointed. The fuck is fast and thorough, almost clinical. Ianto appreciates the economy of it all. They both have to be back soon. When they finish, there is come in his arse that doesn’t belong and he couldn’t explain to Jack. They neither of them crave exclusivity, but Jack says he wants to know.

Ianto needs secrets. He needs to have something in reserve.

Jack craves mystery, challenge, inexplicability. He loves the chase more than the conclusion when it comes to Ianto. Jack’s interest is more precious than his trust...and more easily exploited.

This fuck, however petty, is one small sortie in Ianto's war against a man who would consume his life.


End file.
